The Lessons We Learn
by Passionworks
Summary: The greatest lessons in life, an adult Raiden learns, are those that stem from family. Firelord-to-be, Raiden converses with the five most significant people of his young life.
1. Part One: Iroh

**Author's Note: Okay, I just got this urge to tackle Raiden's character as an adult. And tackle it I shall!**

**This will be written in five parts, each one consisting of Raiden's conversations with significant relatives.**

**First off is Iroh. Enjoy, Raiden/Trilogy people!**

The Lessons We Learn

By: Passionworks

Part One

Iroh

_You can predict the onset of war in the same manner that you can sense a storm brewing, _Iroh once said. _You breathe in the air and smell it, take it for what it is. A war is like precipitation: it falls from the sky and embeds itself into the earth, becoming one with it._

"And the earth changes in ways we can't always see," he says today, his appearance falsely cheerful. "The soil beneath our feet grows brittle as the pollution of warfare is consumed. Poison meets the core and throws the ethereal balance off; it shifts our world from prosperity to depression in the way a scale accommodates unequal weights. One tips, the other raises. One wins, one loses."

Raiden's hand rests at his teacup; his fingers massage its handle distractedly. The Firelord-to be swivels his head to the left, his gold, piercing eyes meeting Iroh's.

"What if the war meets a draw? Surely neutralization would –"

"A draw does not mean the matter is resolved," Iroh interjects, his face hiding an inquisitive smile (he is proud that his niece's boy is so willing to probe every possible angle that this lesson ejects). "A draw simply represents equal levels of hostility. When these two negative forces collide, a rift is caused. A fissure in the earth forms, one that can only be patched when the antagonism is quelled."

"I see," Raiden answers. He ponders what he has been told, and then asks hesitantly: "Are you telling me this because you believe another war is approaching?"

Iroh pours himself a decent helping of ginseng tea; his sunny orbs set themselves at the table. He then shakes his head.

"Freedom and peace are always limited. And conflict is a consequence of mortal living; it is assured that we will meet it again someday."

"But, Iroh," the son of the Firelord's sister replies, "it has been over twenty years since the war's end. War wouldn't arise in this lifetime, would it?"

"Who are we to say when the earth shall tilt again? We can sense it, but we can never predict exactly when it will occur."

Raiden sighs, his recently-cut hair draping over his forehead. "But you do not deny that war is upon us."

"Right." The retired war general sends a sincere smile Raiden's way. "More tea, son?"

"Yes. Please, sir."

The yellowish liquid exits the spout and enters Raiden's cup. The eighteen-year-old watches in odd interest as Iroh draws the kettle back. Raiden then heats the tea with a gentle surge of firebending.

"You know," Iroh states, assurance dripping from his tongue, "I heard from Azula that you are considering following in your father's footsteps and entering the Fire Nation Navy."

"I am." Raiden nods. "Mother finds the idea a bit pointless, but I have come to think of it as an honorable endeavor."

Like a nosy intruder, a bird chirps overheard, listening in on the nobles' conversation. Autumn has set in. The leaves dance about as if placed onstage by the wind, flitting about in spells of burnt crimson and earthy orange.

Clearing his throat, Iroh agrees with the young man, but he mulls over Azula's point. "Your mother only wishes to ensure that you are protected. You know how she is –and always has been –with you."

"Mother doesn't understand the complexities of a man's duty to his country."

Shaking his head, the general counters, "I doubt that. Azula was a formidable force in the war."

"_Was, _Iroh."

Raiden sends the tea to his lips, feeling it heat his skin like a lover's breath. "Father wants me to serve my country."

"Out of obligation to his side of the family?" Curiosity is plastered upon Iroh's face like an unconcealed picture.

"I suppose. But I honestly don't care about tradition. If I am to one day lead this country, I must first learn to be its follower."


	2. Part Two: Zuko

**Author's Note: I really enjoyed writing the first part of this small drabble collection. Now comes Zuko.**

**Please don't think I have abandoned the third part of the Azula Trilogy. I am basically finished with it (finally, yes…) but the editing process will take a long while, considering the prologue alone is over thirty pages on an MSWord document.**

**With that all said, let's see what little lesson Zuzu has in store for his nephew. This one stands as a continuation of Iroh's. Well, actually, I think all of them will somehow branch off each other.**

Part Two

Zuko

_Leadership is not a glamorous status symbol, _Zuko once informed Raiden._ It is a responsibility. Every benefit that arises from it is –more often than not, as I have learned –counteracted by a flaw. But don't let that get the best of you. Leadership is a position of choice. You have the freedom to make the decisions that will affect both you and the world._

Firelord Zuko extends an affable hand in his nephew's direction, beckoning the young man to climb the steps before him.

Raiden obliges, his feet marching up each step authoritatively. He has assumed much of his upcoming power. Not in a negative way, mind you, but in a manner that suggests preparation.

"You come with questions, Raiden."

"Indeed, milord."

Zuko nods, saying nothing. He has grown a bit flustered over the fact that his nephew dares to only call him by his proper title. Raiden's just too respectful a boy to label him with any other name, he suspects; Azula's drilled that into him…

Meeting the very top, Raiden sets himself at his uncle's right hand, sitting Indian-style like a server to his lord.

"You may speak, Raiden."

Smiling amiably, the eighteen-year-old does just that. "Milord," he starts, drawing a breath, "Surely you have heard from your uncle that war is in the forecast."

"I believe it to be true," states the Firelord in a booming tone, "but it would be silly to say that war will ever arise in this lifetime."

"Iroh told me a similar thing, but he also informed me that accurately predicting it is impossible."

"My uncle is an astute man," Zuko says, burying a hand into his well-groomed head of hair. "But you have to learn to leave him to his own wisdom sometimes –don't let it trouble you so."

Sighing, Raiden answers, "That isn't exactly what is bothering me, milord."

"Really?" Zuko appears perplexed. "What is it?"

A nervous Raiden takes a look about him, staring intently at the glowing fire that surrounds his uncle's throne. It astounds him that, one day, this chamber will be his.

"Raiden?"

Raiden's cheeks redden. "I apologize, milord."

Another pause.

"Milord, if a war was to suddenly make headway here, do you think it would be wise of me to enter the military and serve the country?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Wait. Let me put it this way, milord: would it be wise of me –your designated heir –to serve the nation, risking my safety, as well as the future of this bloodline?"

"Your father's expectations getting to you again, boy?"

Frowning anxiously, the Firelord's nephew answers, "It isn't just Father. Mother doesn't want me to enlist in the navy."

Ignoring Raiden's nervousness, Zuko smiles. "Come now, Raiden. You should have a choice in what you wish to do with your life."

"Well, I do wish to follow the path my father expects of me, but I also want to lead this nation."

"There is nothing wrong with taking after Iroh's example. He led the siege at Ba Sing Se before –"

"But, sir, Iroh was never crowned after his resignation."

"True, but don't let that hinder your life's path. History doesn't always repeat itself, Raiden."


End file.
